


that's the only thing keeping me on fire

by softjohn



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chuck Swearing a whole lot, Drunk Raleigh, Fluff, Humour, Kissing, M/M, Mako Mori being the literal greatest, Pissy Chuck, Raleigh's Miraculous Constitution, Snark, So Much Australianism, Tumblr Prompt, Two miserable people at a wedding AU, chuck calls raleigh an 'absolute bloody galah'...i really don't know what else to say, chuck is a cactus on the outside and a marshmallow on the inside, chuck is a mother hen, cough what else is new cough, very brief mentions of homophobia, well...you know what i mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 10:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12167457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softjohn/pseuds/softjohn
Summary: In any case, Chuck needed to get away, and fast, otherwise this joyful occasion would end with an unfortunate homicide. Nothing spoiled a wedding like disembowelment.Unluckily, Chuck was fairly sure that spending time with any of the disgustingly cheerful guests would both ruin their mood and inflame his; if he had to hear Great-Aunt Olivia titter effervescently one more time he’d bloody well shove a kebab stick straight into his eye socket.And so, he reached his last resort - the one person who seemed to hate attending this wedding even more than he did.





	that's the only thing keeping me on fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GutterBall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/gifts).



> For the fantastic GutterBall, who sent in the prompt!! :)))
> 
> ...and yes, the title is from beyoncé, i did my best.
> 
> (a note: kindly suspend disbelief on how long it takes rals to return from the edge of passing out. maybe he has the constitution of an ox. maybe he’s secretly a vampire. maybe i just wanted to get the story going…the earth has many mysteries…….)

Beneath the syrupy golden light of the autumn-tinged Australian sun, trees shifted gently in a whispery song, casting lacy shadows over the neat arrangement of circular white tables. 

A trio of violinists played a sweet melody which blended seamlessly with the park’s natural atmosphere, as birds twittered and fluttered between branches; beautifully-dressed people slow-danced gracefully around the two newlywed husbands; and Chuck Hansen was sitting alone and isolated with champagne in hand, doing his best to scowl a burning hole into the immaculate tablecloth.

Without breaking his glower, Chuck took an aggressive sip of his champagne. He then glared at it, somewhat blearily, and muttered a slurred complaint about it having the audacity to not be whiskey. Still, he wasn’t irritated enough about it to not take another gulp - because Chuck Hansen was determined to get absolutely trashed today, available whiskey or no.

The source of Chuck’s consternation was twofold. Firstly, it was his father’s wedding - his father, who’d been notoriously absent for Chuck’s entire childhood; and when he had been present, he’d been distant and awkward. Secondly, his homophobic Uncle Scott had been hissing like a malignant teapot about ‘ _those people_ ’ and ‘ _the children_ ’ and ‘ _unnatural_ ’ for the past twenty-three minutes, completely oblivious to the fact that Chuck was, in fact, gay himself. 

Even if Chuck wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about his father, he had nothing against Pentecost. Furthermore, his uncle’s dinosauric views were grating. Marriage had been legalised seven bloody years ago. Views weren’t iPhone 4s, they  _could_  be updated once in a while. Scott, however, seemed stubbornly oblivious to this fact; Chuck was beginning to believe that he could give Tony fuckin’ Abbott a run for his money.

‘Marriage should be between a  _man_  and a  _woman._ ’ Scott’s grumble cleaved straight through Chuck’s blessed moment of disassociation. ‘I always thought Herc was bloody smarter than this. Turned up hopin’ he’d sorted himself out. But here he is… _flaunting_.’ He cast a dark look at his brother, who was trying to pressure Stacker into trying some olive paté. How that was flaunting anything but how bloody terrible his father’s taste was, Chuck wasn’t sure. 

In any case, Chuck needed to get away, and fast, otherwise this joyful occasion would end with an unfortunate homicide. Nothing spoiled a wedding like disembowelment.

Unluckily, Chuck was fairly sure that spending time with any of the disgustingly cheerful guests would both ruin their mood and inflame his; if he had to hear Great-Aunt Olivia titter effervescently  _one more time_  he’d bloody well shove a kebab stick straight into his eye socket.

And so, he reached his last resort - the one person who seemed to hate attending this wedding even more than he did.

‘Sorry, mate,’ Chuck told Scott loudly (conveniently overriding his dire predictions about future human-wallaby relationships), ‘looks like my friend’s had a tad too much to drink. Better go check on him before he upchucks all over the bloody tablecloth.’

Pushing away from the table with a clatter, Chuck gratuitously ignored Scott’s parting comment (“Careful not to catch The Perversion, Charles - it’s infectious”) and stomped over to a decently distanced table and its lone occupant.

‘G’day,’ he said, yanking out a seat and dropping down onto it with a huff. ‘I thought we could wallow in our fuckin’ misery together, mate.’

Stretching out comfortably, he looked over to the other occupant of the table. Said other occupant was staring back at him, a puzzled frown bunching up thick golden eyebrows. His eyes were dark blue, and seemed to physically embody the song “Whiskey Lullaby” - which, yes, was Chuck’s go-to cry song. He wasn’t ashamed.

‘Christ Almighty,’ Chuck muttered, despite himself. His exclamation was driven in equal parts by how undeniably hot the guy was and how  _miserably fucking sad_  he appeared. His blonde hair was dismally ruffled, as if he wasn’t able to summon the energy to even run a hand through it; his jaw was shadowed with stubble just on the wrong side of scruffy; there was a defeated droop to his broad shoulders, and he was hoarding a pretty bloody extensive collection of empty champagne flutes.

Hell, Chuck hadn’t even been aware that it was physically possible to look so absolutely, completely…morose. 

It awoke something weird, unexpected, and - dare he say it -  _motherhen-ish_  in him, which only Max had previously managed to eke out of him.

‘Who is…whozat?’ the man slurred, making a vague gesture which toppled a (mercifully empty) glass.

‘Right, you absolute bloody galah, I think you’ve had enough,’ Chuck said firmly, ignoring the returning mumble of _‘gala-what?’._ Rescuing the store of flutes, Chuck placed them on the opposite side of the table, where they’d hopefully be safe from the man’s massive, clumsy paws. ‘Stay right there.’

Now on a mission, Chuck stood and made a beeline for the beverages table. He picked out two cups of water and a plate of munchies, before returning to the sozzled idiot. Luckily, he hadn’t managed to burn down anything while Chuck was gone, but he was slumped down face-first onto the table, looking worryingly dead.

‘Oi!’ Chuck barked, instinctively.

The man’s groan was muffled into the tablecloth, but at least he was alive. Chuck wasn’t sure who he was, exactly, but he was fairly sure his death would still cast a slight pall over the wedding.

‘You’re not allowed to die yet, mate,’ he told him as he sat. ‘Keep your bloody chin up until you get home, alright? Drink this.’ Chuck shoved a plastic cup of water into the guy’s face and kept it there until it was reluctantly accepted. His eyelashes were really fucking long, and Chuck was really fucking pissed off with himself. He would eye up the handsome wanker when he wasn’t on the edge of dying from alcohol poisoning, thanks.

Setting down the food which he’d taken - which turned out to be stupidly adorable stars of fairy bread - Chuck kept an eagle eye on the maggot idiot until he’d drained the water. He shoved the second cup towards him, and raised his eyebrows aggressively when he looked like he was going to protest.

‘Eat something, too,’ Chuck said. He nudged the plate with a knuckle. The wanker sighed loudly and pointedly, but complied. While he slowly made his way through the fairy bread, Chuck drummed impatiently on the table and stared up at the trees, contemplating the current state of his life.

‘What’re you, my nurse?’

Startled but unwilling to show it, Chuck jerked his head down and narrowed his eyes. The ever-present anger welling up in his chest was abruptly deflated when he noticed the idiot’s smile. It was small, undeniably grateful, and as stupidly cute as the fucking fairy bread stars, which were now all gone.

‘Not bloody likely,’ Chuck said. ‘Just didn’t want you going fucking cactus in the middle of my dad’s wedding.’

‘Still might, if that means what I think it does,’ the man replied, bracing his forehead on his palm. His smile became rueful, then wavered. ‘Think I might’ve drank too much…is the world  _meant_ to spin like this?’

‘I’m getting you some more bloody water,’ Chuck grumbled, and stood.

When he returned with four cups in his grip, the man had been joined by someone else - a dark-haired someone, who had a hand on his shoulder and looked torn between sympathy and helpless amusement. Someone who looked ass–kickingly fuckin’ fantastic in a dark blue suit. Someone who was very, very familiar.

‘Mori?’

Mako Mori, Chuck’s one and only childhood friend, looked up with a smile. ‘Chuck. I see that you have met Raleigh,’ she said, gesturing to the sozzled idiot, who was rubbing his fingers across his forehead. ‘He is depressed because of the abject failure of his last relationship.’

‘Mako…’ the idiot - Raleigh - groaned, covering his eyes in shame.

Chuck smirked. 

‘And the lack of any since,’ Mako added, with the small grin which was the closest she came to a smirk. It was evident that she was a little tipsy herself, not usually being so easily amused, nor so openly sadistic.

Wincing, Raleigh stared up her pleadingly. ‘Okay, alright, you’ve made your point, Mako.’

Her grin widened. She bent down closer to say, ‘Have fun tomorrow morning,’ and snicker. With a last amused smile at Chuck and a pat to his forearm, she returned to the dance floor.

Shaking his head, Chuck huffed a small laugh. He looked back to Raleigh, who was regarding him with some surprise.

‘You have dimples?’ Raleigh asked.

Chuck quickly replaced his lingering smile with a scowl. ‘Maybe. You’re drunk.’

Raleigh rolled his eyes, then immediately regretted it, judging by the face which he pulled. ‘True,’ he admitted. 

Hm. Surprisingly mature, especially for someone still drunk off his ass. Speaking of - Chuck pointedly placed the cups before Raleigh and sat.

‘Four cups?’ Raleigh grumbled. ‘Really, man?’

‘Chuck,’ he corrected, ‘and yeah. You’d better fuckin’ drink them all, mate.’

‘Raleigh.’

‘Ray.’ 

Seeing his expression, Chuck snorted. ‘You think I’m gonna try and pronounce that bloody name with this bloody accent?  _Mangled as fuck_  would be an understatement.’

‘I don’t care,’ Raleigh said, too quickly.

Chuck frowned at him.

Raleigh reddened.

‘I’m drunk,’ he said.

‘Whatever you say,  _Rah-_ leigh,’ Chuck replied with childish glee. However, this terrible (and deliberate) mutilation of Raleigh’s name only served to make him redder, for some reason.

‘So, why are you over here with some drunk stranger, instead of partying it up over there?’ Raleigh asked. He waved at the dancing area.

Chuck’s initial impulse was a snappy “ _None of your fucking business”._  But, well…the poor wanker  _had_  had his entire sob story spilled by Mako, without his permission. Besides, he was still drunk as fuck, so Chuck doubted he’d remember much.

‘It’s my dad’s wedding,’ he said, and stopped, not knowing how to elaborate on that aspect without going into stuff he didn’t want to touch with a bloody ten-foot pole. He might be willing to talk with Raleigh, but discussing his father’s absentee nature was  _way_  too far. ‘And my Uncle Scott’s being a right fucking dickface.’ He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, at the spot where Scott was presumably still sitting in a bigoted funk. ‘I’m pretty sure he supports Pauline Hanson on the down-low.’

Raleigh looked sympathetic. ‘That bad, huh? Mako told me she’s pretty much the Trump of Australia.’

‘Donald Trump is her love-child with Clive Palmer,’ Chuck replied acerbically.

At this, the stupid seppo merely looked confused. Giving a disgusted click of his tongue, Chuck pulled out his phone and typed a quick search into Google Images.

‘There,’ he said, handing it over.

Raleigh took a glance at the image on-screen and choked on his sip of water. Chuck was forced to get up and slap the bloody drongo on the back, but not without rolling his eyes at least twice.

When the bloody idiot had finally stopped trying to inhale his own tongue, Chuck sat down with a huff - only to realise that Raleigh was laughing helplessly, bent over the table.

‘It isn’t  _that_  funny, mate,’ Chuck snorted. However, he was unable to repress the reluctant smile tugging at his mouth: Raleigh’s laugh was fuckin’ cute, all right? 

‘I’m drunk,’ Raleigh managed between gasps for air. ‘ _Everything_  is that funny.’

Chuck couldn’t help but think of the Raleigh of a bare forty-five minutes before: sombre, mopey, silent. Now he was laughing like an absolute bloody loon. The thought that Chuck -  _Chuck_ , who made someone cry on at least a weekly basis - had had something to do with that made something oddly warm and fuzzy bubble up in his chest. Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t particularly want to be a dickhead. It was just how he  _was._

Or, more accurately - it was how he  _became_  after how his father treated him, and how his mother was taken from him; and by the time he realised as much, it was all anyone expected from him. So Chuck had lived up to their expectations - amped it up when his father fucking  _dared_ to be disappointed - and now he was sort of…stuck like that.

He watched as Raleigh wiped actual tears from his eyes, and wondered if that absolutely had to be the case.

A sudden silence jerked Chuck out of his stupidly fucking wistful thoughts. Raleigh had (sadly) stopped laughing - he was staring over Chuck’s shoulder with a slightly apprehensive expression.

‘Don’t look,’ he said, before Chuck had a chance to turn, ‘but I think your homophobic uncle is coming over.’

Bloody hell. The absolute  _last_ thing he needed right now was more of Scott fucking Hansen’s bullshit. Especially with Raleigh right there.

Chuck gave a heartfelt groan. ‘Aw, fuck  _me_.’

Raleigh’s eyes lit up like he’d just gotten an idea. Leaning across the table, he said, ‘Don’t punch me for this,’ took Chuck’s face in his hands, and, before a dumbfounded Chuck could ask what the living  _fuck_ he was doing, kissed him full on the mouth.

Somewhere in the mush which his brain had suddenly become, Chuck registered a strangled noise from somewhere behind him. Well, if Scott had a heart attack, it’d probably be more of a gift than something to mourn.

After what seemed like ages, Raleigh pulled back.

‘It was the only way I could think to keep him away,’ Raleigh said, blushing. ‘Also, I’m drunk.’

Chuck tried to speak for a moment, and failed. He shook his head and tried again. ‘You’re drunk.’ He realised to his horror that his face was also hot. ‘Bloody off your skull, mate,’ he added, to compensate.

‘Yeah.’

‘Yeah.’

There was silence for a moment.

‘…Do you want my number?’ Raleigh asked finally.

‘Dunno,’ Chuck replied. ‘You sure you aren’t too fuckin’ drunk to remember it?’

Raleigh reached out and cuffed him around the head. 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu [on tumblr](http://bojaegers.tumblr.com/)
> 
> drop a comment if you need any Aussie translations, if you also think that Raleigh Becket's laugh is as cute as little stars of fairy bread, or if you Agree with the image of Mako Mori rockin' a pantsuit :^)


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